Sometimes, you don’t realize something is missing until it comes back.  The neighborhood mockingbird who does a stellar impersonation of car alarms all. night. long.  is just such a thing.  He went away for winter, and apparently returned two days ago.  So I wrote a poem in his (annoying) honor.

In days of old, they heard the tunes
Of soft and gentle airs.
Their pleasure was to take these up
And echo everywhere.
In lofty tree or flowery bush,
Their joyous songs were heard.
The listeners said it must be a sin
To kill a mockingbird.

Technology changed, the world advanced,
Tall trees became metal towers.
The listeners turned off their ears
And worked for hours and hours.
Sharp notes to fend off thieves
Drowned out sweet songbirds’ hymns,
And the lofty mimicker’s throat grew harsh
Mocking the city’s din.

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